To be the only woman alive in a vast hive of deathIs a strange predicament, granted! Innumerable zombiesWith glazed eyes shuffle around at their diurnal tasks,Keep the machines whirring, drudge idly in stores and bars,Bear still-born zombie children, pack them off to schoolFor education in science and the dead languages,Divert themselves with moribund travesties of living,Lay mountainous bets on horses never seen to run,Speed along highways in conveyor-belt automobilesBut, significantly enough, often dare overshootThe traffic signals and boing! destroy themselves again,Earning expensive funerals. (These, if at last they emergeFrom the select green cemetery plots awarded themOn their twenty-first death-days by sombre uncles and aunts,Will become zombies of the second degree, reverencedNationwide in church or synagogue.) Nevertheless,Let none of this daunt you, child! Accept it as your fateTo live, to love, knowingly to cause true miracles,Nor ever to find your body possessed by a cold corpse.For one day, as you choose an unfamiliar side-streetKeeping both eyes open, alert, not apprehensive,You shall suddenly (this is a promise) come to a brief halt:For striding towards you on the same pavement will appearA young man with the halo of life around his head,Will catch you reassuringly by both hands, asserveratingIn phrases utterly unintelligible to a zombieThat all is well: you are neither diseased, deranged, nor mistaken--But merely undead. He will name others like you, no less alive:Two girls and a man, all money-less immigrants arrivedLately at a new necropolitan conurbation'Come with me, girl, and join them! The dead, you will observe,Can exercise no direct sanctions against the livingAnd therefore doggedly try to omit them from all the records.Still, they cannot avoid a certain morbid fascinationWith what they call our genius. They will venture questionsBut never wait for an answer--being doubtless afraidThat it will make their ears burn, or their eyes prick with tears--Nor can they countermand what orders we may issue.'

Nod your assent, go with him, do not even return to pack!When five live people room together, each rates as a million--But encourage the zombies to serve you, the honest creatures,For though one cannot ameliorate their way of deathBy telling them true stories or singing them real songs,The will feel obscurely honoured by your warm presence.

Brennen Reece is a multidisciplinary artist and communication designer from Auburn, Alabama. He enjoys cooking, reading, camping, making art, making music, playing tabletop games, and doing all of the previously mentioned things with his awesome kid.